(navigation image)
Home American Libraries | Canadian Libraries | Universal Library | Community Texts | Project Gutenberg | Children's Library | Biodiversity Heritage Library | Additional Collections
Search: Advanced Search
Anonymous User (login or join us)
Upload
See other formats

Full text of "NightRider"

404

had been a time a man couldn't git mithen fer a hide not
seasonable, with the fur good, and summer hunten didn't pay
a man powder and git. But we come in to Hays City our first
trip, loaded down, and figgeren on what to do till the cold
come, and a feller what bought hides for Durfee, over to
Leavenworth—give us two dollars and a dime fer prime bull,
I recollect—he says, 'Boys, just belly up quick, and quench
yore thirst, and hit out again, I'm buyen now, summer or
winter, rain or shine I' 'Is that a fact,' Mingo says, ' summer
hide?' 'Hit's a fact/ that feller says.

"Mingo up and buys ernuther wagon, and hires two feller
to skin—Irish, they was, the country was plumb full of Irish
—and a feller to cook and stretch, and I says to him, 'Lord
God, Mingo, you act lak we was rich.' And he says, 'We
ain't, but Lord God, we gonna be. And I'm durn tired of
skinnen, durned if I ain't, I don't mind shooten, but I hate
to skin. One thing hit was, shooten rebels, a man ne'er had
to skin 'em. Hit's gonna be shooten now, like a gentleman,
till the barr'l hots/

" And durn if he didn't say the God's truth. The barr'l hot
to a man's hand. The day a still day, and the smoke round
a man's head like a fog, and yore ears ringen. Ifn you got
a stand—the buffalo standen and graze-en—and drapped the
lead one, the others mought just sniff and bawl, and not
stampede. If you was lucky. Nuthen to hit then, keep on
shooten fer the outside ones that looked lak they mought git
restless, take hit easy and not git yore gun barr'l too hot.
That next year, I mind me we got two good stand, Mingo
one and me one. I was come-en up a little rise south of a
crick runnen in the Pawnee, and I raised up my head, keerful,
and thar they was, a passel of Jem, Bout a hundred and fifty
paces off yander, and me down wind. I propped my Sharp's
to my prongstick—a Sharp's was that long and heavy—and
cracked down. I started to git up—a man would git up
and run to git him his next shot—and got on one knee,
and I see they wasn't no buffalo down. I figgered I'd missed,
and a easy shot, and I laid back down fer a try. Then I